


Making Him

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 10:21:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15579828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight
Summary: Written for the German Pros Weekend Gathering 2018, where we were each assigned a series of words that had to be fitted into a fic.  Mine were neck, holster, hospital, glasses, clicking and hooting!





	Making Him

The hospital glowered over them, darker even than the late evening sky. The rectangle windows were a bright contrast, and the gleaming steel of hospital beds and the desultory figures of the patients who lay on them couldn’t have been more clear.

“I’m not going,” Doyle said firmly, and then spoiled the illusion by adding “He can’t make me!” and blinking owlishly into the night.

Bodie lifted his fingers from the steering wheel, glanced over, and then gripped it even more tightly. “’course he can,” he said, determined to be patient. “He can sell our bodies to science, remember?”

“Not ours. We don’t exist, do we?”

“That was today. You’ll exist in Cowley’s office tomorrow morning alright, if you don’t get sorted out tonight.”

Doyle frowned and crossed his arms solidly over his chest. “Won’t go to Cowley’s office, then.”

“Ray…”

“You can’t make me either.”

_I bloody can_ , Bodie thought, but it was late, and he was tired, and he didn’t want to spend the next three hours surrounded by moaning old men and squalling children while they waited for Doyle’s less urgent case to be dealt with. 

“Look, Doyle, you took a hefty dose of that stuff, and we don’t know what was in it.”

“’s just happy juice, Bodie. ‘m just gonna be happy for a little while, an’ then I’ll go t’sleep, and then it’ll be tomorrow. I can be miserable again tomorrow, alright?”

“You don’t look particularly happy now!”

“That’s cos you won’ let me go home. C’mon Bodie, le’s go home. Don’t wanna sleep in the hospital with the bedpans making tha’ goddawful racket at four in the morning, an’ those nurses click-click-clicking up an’ down the halls all night. Y’ come out worse than y’ go in.”

“Alright. Alright.” One last try at being responsible. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Thirty-three, all hooting like owls. _Home_ , Bodie!”

Bodie made the mistake of looking across at his partner one more time. Doyle’s arms had loosened now, and as Bodie watched he lifted a foot to rest against the dashboard, let his knee fall so that his groin was displayed temptingly, denim pale and mounded in the streetlight that fell through the windscreen, and then he dropped his chin slightly and looked up at Bodie through the curling mass of his fringe.

Bodie swallowed.

It wasn’t MDMA that Doyle had been given - you didn’t inject that stuff - but the boffins who’d been identifying it for the last three days said it was as near as made no odds. It might last a little longer, it might take Doyle in any one of several interesting directions, but ultimately it wasn’t going to kill him. “Keep him hydrated, get him to the hospital for observation, but he should be fine,” they’d said. Bodie had watched the two unconscious women who’d been making the stuff carted off in the ambulance while Doyle was left behind as walking wounded, with barely concealed fury.

Doyle had just beamed at him, smiled at a bemused Cowley and shaken his hand warmly, and then climbed into Bodie’s Capri. He’d been sunshine and light, chatting away about anything and everything, until they pulled up at Wentworth General, and he dug his heels in. And now…

“Home, Bodie,” Doyle said again, his voice softer. “Your home, eh?”

He flexed slightly against the seat.

Well, why not?

“On your own head be it,” he said, turning the ignition. “You’re still flying tomorrow, _you_ explain it to the Cow.”

“Not flying.” Doyle was smiling again now, settling back into the corner of the seat as Bodie drove them out of the carpark and onto the high street. “Just…” He paused, took a deep breath, and expelled it in a _huff_ of air. “Just _happy_.”

And he looked happy now; crumpled and five-o-clock shadowed, and somehow soft to touch and _happy_.

“And what’s got you so cheerful then?” If you can’t beat em…

“Going home.”

Bodie rolled his eyes, picked up speed over the bypass, and then came off again almost immediately, barely three streets away from his flat. “That’s right,” he said indulgently and clearly. “We’re going home.”

“No _Bodie_ \- _happy_ going home.”

Despite himself, Bodie grinned. “Alright, Doctor Leary, and what’s so great about home?”

“Can do things at home.”

“You, mate, can go to sleep at home.” 

Bodie pulled into his usual parking space - miraculously still empty at this time of the evening - and then the engine was off and Doyle was smiling at him again, and stretching, and fumbling at the door handle to get out. 

He still hadn’t managed it by the time Bodie was out of the car and ready to do it for him, but he’d turned to lean even more heavily on the door, and half fell out, giggling, into Bodie’s arms.

“Give me strength,” Bodie muttered, hauling him up and slinging Doyle’s arm around his shoulders. Get him inside, get him a glass of water - half a dozen glasses of water - and get him to bed.

By the time Bodie had managed to unlock the door to his flat, manoeuvre them both inside, and lock it again, it was clear Doyle had similar ideas.

“Bed, Bodie.”

“You’re bossy when you’re high, you know that?”

Doyle just smiled broadly, so that his face creased with it, and stared into Bodie’s eyes.

Bodie couldn’t look away.

“’s a reason, not an instruction.” Doyle tugged at Bodie’s jacket, slid it off his shoulders, and ran his hands over the straps of his shoulder holster. Then he leaned in, nuzzled into Bodie’s neck, and began a slow campaign of kisses across his skin, so that Bodie’s breath caught, and his cock came up hard and sure.

“Bed, Bodie,” Doyle said again, low-voiced by Bodie’s ear. “’s what we do at home, innit. Happy drugs or no happy drugs, we go home.”

And that was right, Bodie thought, letting himself be tugged towards the bedroom. And Doyle could _always_ make him, and that was right too.

_July 2018_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the German Pros Weekend Gathering 2018, where we were each assigned a series of words that had to be fitted into a fic. Mine were neck, holster, hospital, glasses, clicking and hooting!


End file.
